


Wild Thing, You Make My Heart Sing

by madhattermax



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Femme Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madhattermax/pseuds/madhattermax
Summary: She is stunning.  Crowley was always a sight to behold, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but something about the long wavy hair loose, if not for the victory curls, and the fit of the dress she is wearing makes Aziraphale’s breath catch and pulse quicken.  Is that a hot flash?  Aziraphale is definitely having a hot flash.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	1. Wild Thing, I Think I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> They are still ace in this fic, though that's more based on sex not being of interest, and less about there being a lack of attraction. They have a million and one ways to show affection. Sex isn't one of them. But Crowley is dressed to kill and poor Aziraphale is not immune.

She is stunning. Crowley was always a sight to behold, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but something about the long wavy hair loose, if not for the victory curls, and the fit of the dress she is wearing makes Aziraphale’s breath catch and pulse quicken. Is that a hot flash? Aziraphale is definitely having a hot flash.

The dress is an off the shoulder number straight out of the 1950s, plunging into ample cleavage that definitely wasn’t there before. True to her signature colors, the print is black, but covered in white polka dots. A shockingly red petticoat is just barely peeking out from beneath the dress. A red that deliciously matches the ribbon being worn as a choker around her neck. Completing the outfit is black, wrist length, lace gloves that somehow elongated Crowley’s fingers more than usual, black stockings and kitten heels.

Crowley’s face is done up in tasteful makeup. Her eye makeup gives her a dewy look, her eyelashes elongated with mascara. Her complexion is always spotless, but even so, she’s clearly evened out the tone with foundation. She wears a rouge high on her cheeks, giving her the appearance of a continual, demure blush to her cheeks. It implies an innocence that Aziraphale knows better than to fall for. Finally, her lips are fully lined and filled in with a shade of red matching that which she wears on her throat and under her skirt.

The victory curls aren’t lost on him. They really complete the image that she stepped right out of the ‘50s. It was a good look for her signature red hair.

So much red. Aziraphale feels himself flush as red as she is.

Aziraphale looks her over from head to toe, back to her head, once more, desperately trying not to linger on the cleavage. “My darling, while I, of course, always find you attractive, this Ava Gardner look… I’m a little flustered. I’m a lot flustered. May I ask what the occasion is?”

Crowley twirls in response. The dress flares out in true swinger style, making the petticoat all the more evident. The stockings have a seam down the back, Aziraphale helplessly realizes. Crowley spared no detail.

“I was bored with dressing like a man, is all.” Crowley purrs. “Women have all the fun fashion. Also, I’ve decided that you’re taking me to high tea at the Ritz today. So, I thought I’d dress up to match the festivities.”

Aziraphale is unsure of the proper response. A human wouldn’t have much choice, physically, but he has yet to make that particular effort. However, instantaneous discorporation (or as the humans put it, spontaneous combustion) is a threat if he doesn’t regain control of his heart and body temp. However, getting his body back would be tricky now that he and Crowley are on their own side and decidedly together. No. That would have to be prevented. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and gulps it down. The only possible response is to go along with Crowley’s whim. Aziraphale is not one to disappoint her if it can be helped. And usually, it can be helped. Though he’s not generally at her mercy quite like this.

“High tea at the Ritz sounds lovely!” he stammers out.

*****

It's a beautifully sunny summer day, so they decide to walk the relatively short distance to the Ritz. Cowley absentmindedly twirls a black lace parasol, blocking the sun from her bare skin, in one hand. Her other hand finds itself nestled in the crook of Aziraphale's arm. They stroll along merrily, a couple clearly in love.

When they reach the Ritz, they find their favorite table miraculously available. They are seated, and a waiter joins them shortly. Aziraphale puts in an order for a pot of tea and a spread of cucumber sandwiches, biscuits, and little tea cakes. 

The tea service arrives, and Crowley serves them both tea while Aziraphale takes a selection of food to sample. He knows Crowley won't eat anything but a few bites here and there, so he selects one each of the few things she is more apt to enjoy and puts them on a plate for her. With everything served, Aziraphale tucks into eating while Crowley sips her tea, pinky out like it's a refined habit that's been bred into her. She really is going to be the death of him, and she shows no signs of either remorse or hesitation. Mercy is not on the menu. He looks away, focusing on the tea at hand.

Feeling Crowley’s eyes burning into him, Aziraphale looks back up after sampling a few sandwiches. He catches her eyes and holds them in his own. She smiles sweetly in return. Aziraphale smiles in kind before a look of concern crosses his face. 

“Are you happy with our life together?” he inquires nervously

“Immensely!” replies Crowley immediately with reassurance clear in her voice.

“And you’re happy with all the ways I show my love and affection, noting the ways I don't?” Aziraphale presses on.

Crowley flashes him another sweet smile, “I wouldn't change a thing.”

“So, today's look isn't an attempt to seduce me? Because if that's your goal, it just might work.”

Cowley chuckles merrily. “No, Angel. I saw this dress in a magazine and had to have it. The rest just completes the look. And I couldn't very well wear this outfit just to nap on the sofa while you read. This is a dress made for high tea. I think I'll keep this more feminine body for a while, though. I... our first anniversary as an official couple nears and I thought maybe we could take lessons in ballroom dancing.” She offers another reassuring smile.

“Well, that seems reasonable, I suppose,” replies Aziraphale.

Crowley ventures forth, a mysterious glint in her eye, “Then I thought we could use what we learn in class, at the reception of our wedding. Should you agree to marry me.”

Aziraphale chokes on his tea and is overcome with a coughing fit. Cowley waits patiently for the love of her life to regain the ability to breathe, calm in the knowledge that Aziraphale doesn't really need to breathe, to begin with, and simply chooses to, to keep up appearances.

A few moments pass, and Aziraphale regains his composure. He watches his lady love pick at and nibble on a tea cake. “You, my dear, are an element of chaos. And I love you for it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. So yes. I will indeed marry you.”

Crowley puts the cake down, wipes the crumbs off her bare fingers, the gloves having been moved to beside her plate when she decided to eat, and takes Aziraphale’s hand into her own. She beams up at him, with a smile that shows she really is still lovesick even after all this time. Aziraphale smiles back, quite pleased with himself. Then gently takes her hand, flips it over, and tenderly kisses her palm. “As a wise queen once said, I had better put a ring on it.” 


	2. But I Wanna Know for Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is Crowley's outfit from chapter one. This is simply filler so you can picture Crowley's sense of style as I envision it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm simply trying to explain why our asexual angel immediately had a hot flash. The two aren't mutually exclusive.

Crowley materialized in front of her angel, in chapter one, wearing the following dress, with breasts to match.

In this pattern.

Here are her gloves, the parasol matches.

Oh, and lest we forget, the shockingly red petticoat...

As for the hair and makeup, this is who Aziraphale compares her to.

She was a Hollywood star during film's golden age. 


	3. So, Come on and Hold Me Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, if asked, will say that she’s learning to dance for the purpose of the wedding. But deep inside, Crowley just really enjoys the physical activity and contact with Aziraphale. Their relationship is full of little meaningful touches. There is no lack of displays of affection. But dancing together adds an intimacy that Crowley profoundly enjoys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a little steamy in my opinion. But it's still fairly ace spec. I suppose it just depends on your thoughts on kissing. I personally feel it's nothing but a way to transmit the plague, and have thought so since well before 2020. Other aces might like it. Anyway, there is kissing and cuddles. But this is still fairly wholesome.

Dance lessons prove to be a challenge at first, what with neither angels nor demons being adept at dancing, at least not well. In the case of Aziraphale and Crowley, it’s almost as if they both have two feet. However, Crowley willingly fully submits to her angel’s lead when they dance, and they eventually get the hang of it. They practice every chance they get and never miss their weekly lessons over the six months that follow their engagement.

Crowley, if asked, will say that she’s learning to dance for the purpose of the wedding. But deep inside, Crowley just really enjoys the physical activity and contact with Aziraphale. Their relationship is full of little meaningful touches. There is no lack of displays of affection. But dancing together adds an intimacy that Crowley profoundly enjoys. 

It's March now, and they are snuggled in bed for the night. Aziraphale is dressed in nice warm beige plaid, flannel pajamas, as a means of countering the late winter chill. Crowley is thankful for the heat her angel radiates because she can’t be bothered to sleep in much more than a fitted tank top and panties. Luckily for her, by this point, Aziraphale is used to and receptive of the tangled limbs and heat-seeking measures that come with sleeping with the demon. He wraps one arm around his love and holds a book up with another hand, fully adept, at this point, when it comes to reading one-handed through the night while the demon sleeps.

Tonight, as usual, Crowley rests her head on the angel’s shoulder as she snuggles in close. She has the quilt pulled up tight around her, careful to make sure to share its warmth with Aziraphale. Aziraphale thumbs through a page turn, and tightens his grip on the sleeping demon.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” mumbles the Crowley, who must not be sleeping after all. “It’s been well over a year, and I’m still not used to this. A suppose the 6000 years of wishing for exactly this, just for it to suddenly happen like the flip of a switch, doesn’t help. Hmm. Not that that could have been helped. I understand your fear. I was there. What they tried to do to you. Your fear was valid. But it’ll take another 6000 years of sleeping by your side to get used to it, I suppose.”

“I love you,” sighs Aziraphale. “And I do understand what you’re saying. I don’t even disagree with it. But you’re rambling, my love. And clearly tired. Go to sleep, my dear. If I have to lay here with you, unmoving, for another 6000 years to help you grow secure in things, I will. But I suggest we take it one sleep and reading filled night at a time. We have dance lessons tomorrow, and you want to be well-rested. For someone who doesn’t technically need sleep… well, it’s best you get it anyways, I’ve learned.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m ready, Angel. I want to talk first.”

Aziraphale puts down his book and turns in bed so that he and Crowley are nose to nose.

“Oh, hello, love!” whispers Crowley in delight. She adjusts her head to kiss the tip of the angel’s nose, then readjusts so that she can gaze into his eyes. “I was just thinking that we’ve mastered ballroom dancing at this point. I want to take it to the next level!”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, his face fully expressive as always. “And what,” he inquiries, “might the next level be?”

“Swing dancing, of course!” answers the demon with a grin and a certain mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Of course,” sighs the angel. “You do have the dress collection for it. And I suppose if we can master ballroom dance, we can manage swing dancing in time.”

“In time for our first dance at our wedding?” prods Crowley.

“I suppose we have 6 months, so that seems reasonable. We’ll need to practice daily, of course. And find lessons. I do hate to leave the ballroom lessons behind, though. Ms. Davis is a marvelous instructor and has a kind, loving soul.” Sadness at the thought creeps into Aziraphale’s tone.

“Angel, I don’t see why we have to quit one to start the other. Why not both?” soothes Crowley

“Both?”

“Yes, both! We are due to learn a new dance soon in the one, and any increase in our repertoire of dance moves can only help us in the future!”

“The future,” Aziraphale repeats then pauses. “All this so that we can dance at our wedding? Not that I disagree with that. I’m just… I suppose this is a thing some humans do for weddings…” he trails off.

Crowley shifts her weight, so she has an arm under her, raising herself up in the bed. “My dear, the wedding is simply an excuse. The ulterior motive is the desire to touch you intimately in a way that makes sense for who we are. Most, though not all, humans have sex to show affection. We are asexual genderless beings, no matter how we choose to present. And while sex isn’t completely off the table, I do believe we both agree on our lack of interest. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the excuse, any excise, to hold your hand. Hold you close. Dancing with you, in my mind, is a form of intimacy. We do have many forms.” At this, she runs her fingers through Aziraphale’s curls. “I do not want for lack of touch. But I crave to be touched by you in many ways. In all the ways that make sense as to who we are as a couple. As an angel and a demon. I can’t… I can’t get enough of your touch. And dancing with you, being held by you and swept, soon to be literally, off my feet, helps to fulfill that need.

Aziraphale stares up at her, unsure of what to say. Then he realizes that he understands fully and even agrees with her. There is something magical about the intimacy of dance. He reaches out and grips the back of Crowley’s head, careful to not pull her long hair in the process. He then pulls her down towards him, Crowley allowing herself to lower down with his pull. 

Once within range, Aziraphale gently raises up off the pillow to meet Crowley’s lips with his. They collapse back on the pillow together—two sets of hands exploring arms, hair, and faces. The kiss deepens. Neither can tell where one set of lips ends, and the next one starts. Aziraphale, hungry for more, gently sucks in Crowley’s lower lip and nibbles it much to her delight. He releases it after a few moments then thrushes out his tongue. Their lips part and tongues meet in the middle at first but quickly take up a dance of their own. Neither has much practice at this, even if it has been a year and a half, but instinct kicks in, and their mouths know what to do.

Finally satiated, they pull apart. They meet again in the middle for one more quick kiss on the mouth, the nose, the eyes. Each chaste but tender. 

They pull apart again, both grinning lovesick grins, as they try to catch their breaths.

Finally, with breath under control, Aziraphale speaks up, “Swing dancing sounds lovely, and I agree we should keep up the ballroom dancing as well. Though, at some point, we might want to consider adding in modern dance. Unless you think that would be too much?”

“No, my love,” reassures Crowley. “That would not be too much.”

She resituates herself so that her head is on Aziraphale’s shoulder again as if to sleep, but she doesn’t sleep. Aziraphale picks up his book again as if to read, but he doesn’t read. Dawn finds them a few hours later, deep in thought and daydreams, and ready to dance the day away.


	4. You Move Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then he sees her at the doors, and his giggles immediately catch in his throat. Holding them back is no longer a problem, as the angel can no longer breathe. The color drains from his face, and his brain short circuits. She’s always gorgeous, but this is a whole other level that he simply cannot process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is only possible due to the editing and dress image collection of my best friend [@MsCoffeeBitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsCoffeeBitch) . Could I have done this by myself? Maybe. But she kept my Crowley in character better than I could have.

They found an indoor/outdoor garden venue for their late morning nuptials, what with a church being out of the question. There are only a couple dozen or so attendees. Invites are limited to only the closest of friends made in recent years. Anathema and Newt are, of course, there. As are Shadwell and Madame Tracy. A relationship between the six of them has been carefully built over the past couple of years, since the failed apocalypse. Saving the world together tends to build unlikely friendships. Warlock and Adam are missed and missed deeply, but there was no feasible way to explain to either set of parents how they knew each other. Not without an explanation of the failed apocalypse, and that was also deemed out of the question. There is no wedding party beyond the bride and groom themselves. The reception will move indoors, after the vows, to a banquet hall with a dance floor, DJ table, and dinner tables where everyone will be able to eat the catered meal (carefully selected by Aziraphale). There are also rooms for the groom and his bride to dress in before the ceremony. The aisle, starting from the doors of the venue and ending at the altar, winds through the garden before reaching the few rows of chairs set up for the attendees, and then finally reaches the alter where Aziraphale stands nervously waiting, watching the doors.

Crowley had said she would take care of the fine details of the ceremony itself. All Aziraphale needed to do was buy his tux (black tails and slacks, silver waistcoat, black bowtie, white button-down shirt, black top hat, and ruby cufflinks – [Image found here](https://www.walkingtheborderline.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/Zira-Wedding-Attire.jpg)) and write his vows. She hadn’t said what song she was planning to walk down the aisle to. While Aziraphale knows Crowley well enough to know it wouldn’t be the wedding march, he doesn’t otherwise have any expectations and knows it could be just about anything. He never even gave it much thought. However, when he knows it is about time, according to a nervous glance at his watch, and the classical music that has been playing for the past half hour fades out and Killer Queen by the band Queen starts playing over the speakers, Aziraphale’s first reaction is to burst into a fit of giggles, that he only half attempts to contain, because the selection was both very in character for the demon, but also completely unexpected.

Then he sees her at the doors, and his giggles immediately catch in his throat. Holding them back is no longer a problem, as the angel can no longer breathe. The color drains from his face, and his brain short circuits. She’s always gorgeous, but this is a whole other level that he simply cannot process. Crowley is wearing an ivory, curve-hugging, floor-length French Chantilly lace affair. Her shoulders are bare except for a thin strap on either side, holding the dress up. The dress is tight over her curves, but the skirt flows into a delicate train with stunning lace appliqués, and Crowley manages to look equal parts glowingly modest as any bride should and just as sinfully tempting as she always is. ([Dress found here](https://www.enzoani.com/en/collections/blue-by-enzoani/magnolia).)

She makes her way down the aisle, with a slight dance in her step, in response to the music she’s selected. Proper walking down the aisle etiquette does not apply to her, but she keeps it subtle and relatively well contained. She avoids twirling, at least. Aziraphale does not miss a step she takes. His eyes never leave her figure. He knows she’s enjoying herself. When Crowley finally reaches him, she takes his hands, leans in for a quick kiss on the cheek, giving her a chance to ask if he’s alright. She can see by the look on his face that he is stunned. Aziraphale simply nods mutely in response.

The ceremony itself is simple and mostly traditional, with their own promises to one another substituted in for the traditional vows. There is no need to promise in sickness and in health. But with potentially millennia spent together, there are other promises to be made. There are vows of undying love, unconditional patience, and a noted few lines of spoken lyric of Queen’s “You’re my Best Friend” slipped in mid vows by Crowley. At the end of the ceremony, complete with a tasteful but tender kiss, they walk back down the aisle, towards the reception hall, to an instrumental of Queen’s Someone to Love. This was a mutual decision.

When they reach the reception hall, the newlyweds slip into Crowley’s changing room, where another dress lies in wait. Aziraphale helps Crowley into a shorter and lighter, tea-length ivory tulle dress with a lace bodice that will be much easier to move in. ([Dress found here](https://www.victoriasqueen.com/tea-length-cap-sleeve-wedding-dress-768.html#collapse-attribute).) There is dancing to do! Crowley slips off the stilettos she wore for the ceremony and refuses to put them back on. “One cannot swing dance in stilettos, without potentially breaking an ankle,” she points out to Aziraphale, who nods in understanding and doesn’t fight it. Ready to go celebrate their love and commitment, they hold hands and reenter the hall to the sound of applause. Crowley drops into a curtsey while Aziraphale beams as bright as the sun at her side.

A light lunch of savory chicken crepes, with a side of green beans with mushrooms, and a light mixed greens salad, is served. “My dear,” whispers Aziraphale to Crowley, “these crepes are as good as the ones we had in the revolution. These would be completely worth risking my neck for!”

Crowley leans in and kisses Aziraphale on the cheek. “Remind me to learn how to make crepes. I should have included a promise to do so in my vows, but it’s too late for that. So, I promise you here and now you’ll no longer have to risk that neck I so love for something I can learn to make at home. I can, of course, learn to make other things. Maybe even take some baking classes. It will be my life’s mission to keep you happy and show my love for you through food. But, would you perhaps like to join me in baking classes? Maybe we can learn to keep you fed together?”

“You are too good to me,” replies Aziraphale. “I would love to take baking classes! Maybe we can also take cooking classes while we’re at it?”

“Of course,” answers Crowley, with another kiss on the cheek. “Anything for my angel! Between the dance classes and the baking and cooking classes, we’ll have a full schedule! I’m ok with that, though. These activities are all done in your company, and there is nothing better! Were we still going to add modern dance to our rotation, love?”

“I’d be delighted if you’re up for it!”

“I most certainly am! I’m very much enjoying learning to dance with you!” replies Crowley with evident affection in her voice. 

As everyone finishes their lunch, plates start being cleared. After the tables have been fully cleared of dishes, Aziraphale and Crowley move to the center of the dance floor, and Aziraphale nods to the DJ. Perfect by Ed Sheeran fades out, and Aziraphale pulls his bride close, as You Take My Breath Away by Queen starts playing. Crowley wraps her arms around Aziraphale and rests her cheek on his shoulder. Aziraphale wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her as close as possible. Together they sway to the music, moving their feet only ever so slightly. This moment is not the time to show off a year’s worth of learned dance moves. This is an opportunity to silently reflect on 6000 years of shared history, while they physically love each other the best way they know how. 

Aziraphale, head resting on Crowley’s head, fails to hold back a few tears, however happy and relieved that they may be. He is here, dancing with his new bride, free to love her, and neither Heaven nor Hell can prevent it. It’s defiance, freedom, he never would have dreamed of even just a little more than two years ago. Nevertheless, here he is with the love of his long life, loving her fully for who she is. 

The song ends, and the music moves on to Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You by Frankie Valli. The newlyweds break apart and invite the others to join them on the floor. In proper form and using dance moves taught to them by Ms. Davis, their dance instructor, the two dance in perfect sync. They perform a simple, slow waltz, with only 6 steps, but it carries them around the floor.

“I do love dancing with you,” murmurs Aziraphale.

“And I with you! As I’ve said, I enjoy the physical contact. This is a way of touching that makes sense to me. Learning to dance with you has been, and continues to be, one of the highlights of my life.”

“You’re softer than people give you credit for,” teases Aziraphale.

“I am not soft,” hisses the demon.

“Hmm… You’re openly in love, though, and it has taken your sharp edges and made them ever so slightly rounded. You can fool the others, and perhaps yourself, all you want. But you, my dear, are softer than intended.”

“And you’re a bastard,” sighs Crowley.

“Yes, but you love me for it,” answers the angel with satisfaction in his tone.

“You’ve got me there,” relents Crowley. “You ready to really dance? Show our friends what we’re all about?”

“I’m ready if you are,” replies Aziraphale.

“Then, I’ll be right back.”

The duo pulls apart, and Crowley heads to the DJ table to let him know they were ready for their planned dance. At Last by Etta James reaches its natural conclusion, and Crowley takes his place next to Aziraphale. They get into position, and Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen begins right on cue. They nod to each other and start a fast-paced swing dance like they’ve been practicing for weeks. Ms. Davis had spent extra time with them working on the choreography. They fly around the dance floor, Crowley being flung about, much to her delight. It’s like flying, no wings needed. They spin. They twirl. There is no shortage of fancy foot and arm work. There are a solid three lifts during their dance. They are having a blast, much to the delight of their audience.

When the song ends, and Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis takes over, the couple bow, and then remove themselves from the dance floor. They head over to Anathema and Newt to mingle. While they could dance together for hours, and sometimes do, like no one else is in the room, etiquette dictates that it’s time to be social. They spend the next 2 hours rotating between different guests and the dance floor. A mix of classic rock and modern rock takes over the soundtrack for the day. 

Finally, it’s time for cake. The couple spent weeks sampling different bakeries and discussing their options together. Crowley was naturally inclined to default to Aziraphale’s preference, as is usually the case when food is involved. However, the angel did make sure to select something that even Crowley would enjoy. It is a modest confection of only two tiers. The cake itself is a simple white cake, but the lemon frosting was what makes it the real winner. The newlyweds stand before the table, a cake knife in their hands, and gently cut the first piece as tradition dictates. Then they slide the piece onto a plate. Crowley reaches for it with her fingers, but a stern look from the angel informs her that this is not to be finger food. Aziraphale, with fork ready, readies a bite and holds it up to her mouth. She gently takes the bite into her mouth, never breaking eye contact with the angel. Aziraphale flushes but holds her gaze. With a smile, Crowley, breaking eye contact finally, takes the fork from Aziraphale, readies her piece for him, and offers it up. Aziraphale eagerly eats his bite, then offers up an ever so quiet moan of satisfaction. Crowley, the only one close enough to hear it, quietly chuckles. Feeding her beloved angel is a delight. He always shows his satisfaction for good food in the most overt ways, never feeling a need to hide it. She really can’t wait to learn to cook and bake, she decides. The only thing more delightful than feeding him is offering him a treasure of a find in a rare book not yet in his expansive collection. 

The caterer takes over cutting slices of cake, and the couple moves back to their table with their pieces of cake. Even Crowley has to admit that the angel chose well. “I’m glad I gave you opinions on cake selection,” she offers him.

“I know you don’t enjoy food quite like I do, but it was so important to me that you like our wedding cake. The meal too, but cake is such a delight in this world. So, you enjoying our cake was important.”

They finish their respective pieces in silence then go back to mingling until it’s time to go. They are followed out to the parking lot by their guests, where they find someone has attached a big white ribbon and tin cans to the waiting Bentley. There is a big “Just Married” poster hanging in the back window. Crowley groans while Aziraphale laughs in delight. They get into the back seat, while Shadwell and Madame Tracy, their designated drivers for the night, get in front.

Surrounded by the cheers of their friends, they drive off from the venue and towards their future as a married couple. This moment was 6025 years in the making, but it’s here now, and both are ready for it. Whatever their future together may hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. This chapter has a playlist. That playlist is the following 6 songs by Queen on repeat for some 7 hours.  
> Killer Queen  
> Somebody to Love  
> You're My Best Friend  
> Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy  
> You Take My Breath Away  
> A Crazy Little Thing Called Love  
>   
> I like to think Aziraphale has grown to appreciate Queen.


End file.
